Sophia's Suffering
by The Song Of The Cricket
Summary: Life at the prison has become a routine. Carl and Sophia eagerly await the coming of April 27th, their anniversary. But a mysterious sickness swarms through the prison, putting everyone in danger. What will happen to the young couple in the face of such threats? Second book in the "Sophia" series, sequel to Sophia's Return.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Welcome to the next book in the Sophia Series! I'm so sorry! I know I said this would be out a long time ago, and I feel bad, but it's finally here! I've been doing some pre-writing with the chapters, so I can stick to a schedule. Even if it takes me a long time to write a chapter, I'll still have one to upload! So without further ado, I present: Sophia's Suffering!**

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My eyes blinked open to the familiar sight of my cell, which was empty, like always. Carl usually woke up early to help his father with the farming. I, like any normal person, enjoyed my sleep and preferred to sleep in.

The calendar on my nightstand caught my eye as I pulled myself out of the bed. I smiled. Today was the 23rd of April. Carl and I had been counting days until our anniversary, which was on the 27th. I began stripping off my clothes, quickly replacing them with cleaner ones. Once I had finished getting dressed, I stepped out in the hallway and made my way outside to find Carl.

The sun was bright and friendly when I stepped out the door, closing my eyes as I paused to enjoy the warmth of the rays on my face for a moment. If you blocked out the sound of walkers banging against the fence, it was easy to pretend things were normal.

When I opened my eyes again, they were drawn to the bottom of the hill, where Carl was standing, staring at the crops

"Hey!" I called out, grabbing his attention. He turned around, shielding his eyes as he focused his gaze on me. A small grin tugged up the corners of his mouth as he noticed me jogging down the hill to meet him. When I reached the bottom, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder as I stood on my toes to kiss him cheek. He had grown taller in the past year, overtaking me by four inches.

"Good morning," he said, his grin widening at the gesture. I turned my attention to the small farm, where all the vegetables were beginning to shoot up.

"It'll be nice to have some produce here," I remarked. "I haven't any fresh vegetables in two years. What kinds of veggies are growing?"

"Cabbage, lettuce," he answered. "Y'know, stuff like that."

"Did you plant any eggplants?" I asked. When Carl didn't answer, I looked up to see him staring at me, a look of disgust on his face.

"You like eggplants?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

"No way! They're gross!"

"How can you not like eggplants?" I asked. "They're great!"

"They taste disgusting!" he protested. "Besides, what kind of vegetable is purple? It's unnatural."

"Oh, so now you're discriminating?" I teased, giving him a playful shove. He rolled his eyes in response, but smiled nonetheless.

"I'm just saying vegetables shouldn't be purple," he said, "Wouldn't you think it's weird if you met a blue person?"

"So you hate Avatar, too?" I taunted, putting a hand on my hip. "Wow, Carl. What kind of person are you?" He chuckled and opened his mouth to respond, before a familiar voice got our attention.

"Hey lovebirds!" Patrick shouted, his voice carrying down to us from the top of the hill. A lighthearted smirk lit up his face as he trotted down the path to where we were standing. His smug expression relaxed as he pointed to the fence, where Lizzie, Mika, Luke and molly had gathered, and were now motioning to the walkers and talking rapidly.

"Do you know what they're doing over there?" Patrick asked.

"I don't know," Carl answered with a shrug. "We may as well find out, though."

Carl took my hand as our trio walked over to the kids. As we approached, we were able to hear the voices, calling out names. It took us a moment to realize they were naming the walkers. We stopped right behind them, and waited for a second. When none of them noticed us, Patrick cleared his throat, grabbing their attention.

"What are you doing?" Patrick questioned.

"Naming the walkers," Mika answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I was surprised to see her without her camera for once. The young girl usually took her Polaroid everywhere with her.

Carl stiffened at her answer, his gaze darkening slightly. "You shouldn't name them."

"Why not?" Lizzie challenged, scowling. "That once has a name tag, so why shouldn't the other ones have names?"

"They had names when they were alive," he said. "They're dead now."

"No, they're not," she protested. "They're just different."

"How can you say that?" he asked. "Okay, they don't talk. They don't think. They eat people. They kill people."

"People kill people," she argued, "They still have names."

"Have you seen what happens?" Carl asked, "Have you seen someone die like that?"

Lizzie glared. "Yeah. I have."

"They're not people and they're not pets." Carl stated, a firm and final note in his voice. "Don't name them."

Lizzie huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and stalked off, followed by Luke and Molly. Mika smiled at me one last time before scrambling after her sister and their friends.

Once they had left, I turned to Carl, who still had a scowl on his face. "Are you okay?" I asked, squeezing his hand. A silence dragged on between us Patrick coughed, snapping Carl from his thoughts.

"I'm fine," he said, pulling me into a reassuring hug. "I'm just worried. They might not have what it takes to make it in this world."

I nodded, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head on his shoulder. Lizzie and Mika hadn't seen as much as most of the people here had. In the very beginning of the outbreak, they had watched their mother die and reanimate. Soon after that, they ended up taking refuge in a grocery store until the prison group found them and took them in, along with the rest of the people staying there. They hadn't been outside much, and as a result, they were much more sheltered than the rest of us.

"I think they just want to shut it out," I reasoned. "Pretend it isn't happening. They're still young. They haven't seen what we've seen. They want to pretend everything's okay, while they still can."

Carl paused, like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just nodded, allowing another long stretch of silence to pass between us as we stood by the fence.

"Do you think we could still have that chance?" I asked, a sudden rush of foolish hope surging through me.

"No," he whispered, pulling me closer as he rested his cheek on my head. "Not anymore."

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**It feels nice to finally get this out. It's been hanging over my head for a while, making me feel bad, but it's done now! I'm not going to try and stick to an exact updating schedule, but check back every few days or so. I'll try to post them within a week or so, but I can't make any promises. I'm trying to write better, longer chapters, so I'll be taking longer than before.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Whoo! We're back with another chapter! Enjoy!**

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As the night approached, I was sitting on my bed, reading one of my favorite books. I must have read it at least twelve times, but my reading material was limited. It wasn't like I could just get up and go to the bookstore. I was close to finishing it again when a cough from the doorway caught my attention. I looked up to see Patrick standing in my doorway.

"Is Carl here?" he asked, another round of coughing immediately following his question.

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "He's talking to his dad. Are you okay? You sound pretty bad."

"I'm fine," he assured me, before stumbling off, his coughing echoing through the hallway. I stared at the spot where he was standing for a moment, before turning back to my book, trying to push the nagging worry out of my mind. Patrick probably had springtime allergies. He seemed like that type. Whatever it was, I hoped it wasn't contagious. We had enough problems as it was.

I finished the book and set it aside, wondering what to do next. The thought of reading it again, right after finishing it, just didn't appeal to me. As I looked over my small reading supply, I realized none of the books I had particularly appealed to me. Instead, my gaze was drawn to the dusty red leather journal resting on the nightstand. Carl had given it to me last year. With a fond smile, I picked it up and brushed off the thin layer of dust that covered it, along with the pencil next to it. I was sketching a flower when Carl walked in, carrying a small stack of comic books.

"Patrick was looking for you," I informed him, looking up from the journal that rested on my bed to see him set the pile on the nightstand.

"I know," he said, lying down next to me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I leaned into him, and he rested his cheek on the top of my head. "He wanted to know if I had the 17th issue of Invincible, but I told him I didn't."

"Do you?" I asked. I could feel him grin as he answered.

"Of course I do," he said, "I have the first thirty of them."

"You know, you can be a jerk sometimes," I teased, "Patrick's your friend."

"I didn't want to give him my comic with him coughing like that," he said, "But it's not like I'm going to tell him that, so I simply told him I didn't have it. Problem solved. Besides, I'm still waiting for him to give back the Batman comic I lent him."

I rolled my eyes. "I swear, you act like those comics are your babies," I mumbled playfully. "You love those comics more than me."

Carl chuckled. "You know I love you," he said.

Despite the fact that I had heard him say it so many times before, I couldn't help the smile that appeared on my face, or the swell of happiness in my chest. "Yeah," I replied, "I know you do."

We sat there in contented silence for a while, until I could feel the nagging worry creep back into my mind. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Patrick's cough seemed pretty bad," I said, "I'm a little worried. He sounded awful."

"It was a pretty nasty cough," he agreed. "But I'm sure he'll be fine. He survived the zombie apocalypse. I'm sure he'll be strong enough to survive a simple cold."

"I hope that's all it is," I muttered, "I don't know how we'd deal with it if it isn't."

"Don't worry," he assured me, "You'll be fine. I'll protect you, I promise."

"You say that a lot," I said, a smile creeping back on to my face.

"I mean it," he replied, his voice warm and sincere. "I'd never let anything happen to you."

The smile on my face grew wider, and I closed my journal, putting it back on its place on the nightstand, along with the pencil. I was beginning to feel pretty tired, but I ignored the feeling.

"Hey, Carl?" I asked, trying not to yawn, "Do you think things will ever get better?"

He paused for a moment, clearly caught off guard. I was usually pretty grounded to reality, so this wasn't a normal question for me.

"Depends," he said, "What's your definition of better?"

"I don't know," I murmured, thinking, "Not…so…bad?"

He considered it for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "I think that one day, there might not be as many out there, but I don't know if it'll ever end."

I nodded. "I guess that's the best we can hope for," I agreed. "I just wish things we calm down. I want to be able to live without being afraid of dying."

I looked up at his face to see him smiling at me. He pressed his lips to my forehead.

"Don't worry," he murmured, his lips brushing against my skin, "Things will get better, in some way, shape, or form. I promise."

"You make a lot of promises, Mr. Grimes," I teased, snuggling closer to him.

Carl laughed softly. "I know," he said, his voice light. "And I intend to keep each and every one of them."

"I hope so," I murmured, getting drowsier by the second. The warmth of his body was pulling me towards the soft blanket of sleep, but I struggled to keep myself awake. I loved moments like this, and I didn't want to ruin it by falling asleep. We were silent for a moment, before I spoke again.

"I love you, Carl," I mumbled, yawning. Carl chuckled again.

"I love you too, Sophia," he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to my forehead, "Now go to sleep. You're exhausted."

I nodded, closing my eyes. I allowed sleep to overcome me as I huddled closer to Carl, relishing the warmth of the embrace. Little did I know, it would be the happiest night of my life for a long time.

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**Alright, that wraps up chapter two! I'd like to ask you guys a question. I'm making an official playlist for this series, and I want to know what songs you guys think fit Sophia and Carl. Leave it in the review section, and I'll add it if I like it.**


	3. Chapter 3

Distant screams filled my ears as I shot up in bed. Beside me, Carl was alert as well.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I don't know," Carl said, getting up from his spot beside me. "But I'm going to find out."

A sudden panic welled up inside me at the thought of him going in there without a gun. I reached out and grabbed his wrist as he reached for his knife on the nightstand.

"Please don't go," I pleaded. "You don't even have your gun. Please don't leave me."

Carl stared at me, assessing the fear in my eyes. I released his wrist and his hand dropped back to his side. He sat back down on the bed and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, allowing me to curl against his side. I did so gratefully, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to block out the echoing sounds of screaming.

When the screams began to taper off, I opened my eyes and wiped the tears off of my face. I looked up to see Carl staring at the wall, a blank look on his face.

"Patrick," he said. "He was sick and he died. Then he turned and attacked Cell Block D."

"No," I mumbled. "Not Patrick. There must be some other way, some other reason that-"

"There is no other way!" Carl snapped angrily, causing me to flinch away. He put his head in his hands and moaned softly. After a moment of hesitation, I leaned in and began rubbing circles on his back.

"I'm sorry about Patrick," I murmured.

"S'okay," he replied, his voice muffled by his hands. After a moment, he picked his head back up and turned to me. "You think we should go check on everything over there?"

I nodded, the memory of screaming still ringing in my ears. Carl grabbed his knife with one hand took my mine with the other as we started walking to the neighboring cell block.

What I saw when we got there sickened me. Bodies littered the ground; guts were splattered around the mangled corpses. If that wasn't horrific enough, there was a trail of bloody foot prints leading from Patrick's cell to the other end of the cell block. My grip on Carl's hand tightened as we surveyed the grisly scene. A loud sob began to echo through the hallway, one that I immediately recognized as Mika's. Dragging Carl along with me, I ascended the stairs, following Mika's cries to the furthest room.

In there, we found Lizzie, who was holding her Mike as she cried into her chest. Unlike her sister, Lizzie stared at the bed, a mixture of shock and fear in her eyes. I followed her gaze to see their father lying on the bed. His eyes were wide and his breathing was labored. He had two bites; one on his arm and one on his neck. Carl and I exchanged glances, and he let go of my hand to walk over to the bed. I moved over to the girls and wrapped m arms around both of them.

"Don't look," I murmured. Lizzie did as I told and squeezed her eyes shut. I turned back to see Carl whisper something to the eldest Samuel. In response, he said something back. I couldn't hear what either said, but Carl just nodded, and closed his eyes as he plunged the knife into the older man's neck, ending his misery.

For a while, Carl just sat there while I held the two sisters, trying to hold in my own tears. Eventually, Carl and I left so the two sisters could grieve in peace.

That night, I was lying in bed, unable to sleep. All of the safety and security I felt here at the prison was long gone. For the first night in months, the door to my cell was closed, and now, I was too afraid to sleep.

"Carl?" I whispered, my voice breaking the silence of the night. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," he said. "I can't sleep."

"Neither can I," I murmured. "I just can't seem to feel safe anymore."

The mattress above me creaked as Carl rolled over, and his face appeared over the edge of the bed, his dark brown locks hanging off of his head. If not for the tragic event of the day, I would have been laughing.

"I'll protect you," he promised, taking one hand off of the bed frame to reach out and grab one of mine. "No matter what. I'll always make sure you're safe. I love you."

"I love you, too." I murmured, a tiny smile appearing on my face. Not too long after that, I fell asleep.

And immediately wished I hadn't.

_Branches tore at my clothes and whipped at my face, leaving behind small scratches. I could hear groaning behind me. Only one thought was in my head; only one name on my lips._

"_Carl!" I cried, my voice echoing off the forest trees. "Carl! Carl, where are you?"_

_No matter how much I called his name, I didn't hear a response. Instead, my words were met with more groaning. Green and brown rushed past me as my feet carried my through the thick foliage. My clothes were ripped and ragged, and my face was scratched up from the whipping of the branches, but I didn't stop._

"_Carl!"_

"_Sophia!"_

_The voice caused me to freeze for a moment, before I picked up the pace. I continued to call his name as the sound of him calling mine slowly got louder. The forest was still grabbing at me, but I didn't care anymore. The only thing that mattered was the voice calling my name._

_Until it stopped._

_My legs automatically started moving faster, pulling me through the dense woods, until I found myself on the edge of a meadow. There, in the middle of clearing, was Carl. I would have been relieved._

_Except for the fact that he was lying there in a pool of his own blood._

_I rushed forward, falling to my knees next to his body. The scarlet liquid from a bullet hole in his side began to seep into the denim of my jeans, but I didn't care._

"_Sophia…" he croaked._

"_Shh," I murmured, as I gathered his body into my lap. "Don't talk. You need your strength. You'll make it out of this."_

"_I love you…" he groaned._

"_Carl, don't you die on me!" I said, the pitch of my voice rising. "I need you Carl! You can't leave me like this, not yet!"_

_Before he could say anything, his eyes closed, and his head fell backwards. Panic rushed through me as I shook his body gently._

"_No, no, no," I moaned, my voice steadily getting louder. "No, no, no."_

_Carl was dead._


	4. Chapter 4

Oh my god, I am so sorry! I've been grounded, and testing, and trying to not fail my Sceince class so I can keep my position in my writing class. I feel really bad. I take forever to post a sequel, and then I take forever to update it. Ugh.

But, I'm back! Please excuse any writing errors. I'm writing part of this on my iPhone. :P

CircleIntheSand: While I can assure that Sophia isn't going to die quite yet, due to the fact that I do have future books planned, I can not make any promises about Carl.

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"Sophia!"

I shot up in bed, almost bumping foreheads with Carl, who had been standing over me and shaking my shoulders in an attempt to get me to wake up. Sweat rolled off of my forehead and my breathing was heavy as I tried to calm myself. I had been having dreams like this for weeks now, and every time, it scared me just as much as it had the night before. I rubbed a hand over my eye as I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. The dreams varied. Sometimes it was Carl dying, sometimes it was the prison being attacked. They were alays awful, but this has been one of the worst. Even now, after waking up, it was like I could still feel his blood on my hands, staining them a deep scarlet.

Carl reached and put a hand on my shoulder, a comforting gesture. I gave him a weak smile in return, thanking him silently.

"I'm okay," I murmured, running a hand through my tangled blonde locks, damp with sweat. He opened his mouth to respond when the door to the cell opened and Daryl stepped in, holding up his loaded crossbow.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked, only lowering his weapon by a fraction of an inch.

"We're fine," I assured him. "Nightmares." Daryl's face softened as he looked at me. He turned to walk away when a sound rang out from the hallway, causing all of us to freeze.

Coughing.

In a flash, Daryl was out of the cell and interrogating the person who was coughing. Carl sank down onto the bed next to me with a sigh as panic welled up in me. Scenarios raced through my head, making me think of all the awful things that could happen, most revolving around death.

_Stop it_, I mentally chided myself. I was overreacting, yet again. It was springtime, after all. It could be anything, like allergies. Still, I found myself unable to believe that it was simply allergies. After all, Patrick was dead. If he had caught some mysterious sickness, anybody else could have easily caught it as well, considering the close quarters we were living in. We were practically sardines, packed together in a tin canister.

Carl, however, was sitting on the bed with a blank stare on his face, similar to the one he had worn yesterday morning when the attack happened. I reached out and put a hand in his arm, and he moaned as he put his head in his hands. Whatever small hope I had of falling back asleep tonight had vanished.

And I was right. Six and a half hours later, I was standing outside of my cell, holding tightly to Carl's hand as we waited. Rick had called everybody to a meeting in Cell Block C. Carl and I stood in the back of the crowd, listening to them murmuring softly amongst themselves. All of their whispers were silenced when Rick made his way to the small center of the crowd.

"Good morning," he said, addressing the crowd with a cheerful greeting and a solemn expression that didn't quite seme to match. "I'm sure you all know what happened to Patrick. We have reason to believe that the sickness that killed him is not gone. If you have it, or believe anyone else may, please inform Dr. S. We are asking that anyone who has the sickness move themselves to Cell Block A, to prevent further spread of this disease."

Without saying anothet word, Rick walked away, leaving the group to began whispering again, more animated than before. He was almost out of my sight when he turned and motioned to Carl, who let go of my hand and stepped over to his father. I watched as they talked, and then Rick handed Carl something I couldn't see.

Carl nodded once and walked off. As he walked past me and into the cell, I saw what Rick had given Carl. Around his waist was a holster, and in that holster was Carl's Beretta, the one he had taken away about a year ago. The sight did not reassure me in any way. Instead, it only added to my worry. If Rick had given Carl his gun back, then something was wrong.

Inside the cell, Carl was rushing around, throwing clothes and other things into a small orange duffle bag. I took a step forward into the cell and leaned against the door frame, folding my arms across my chest.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Packing," he answered, not even pausing to look and me. "My father is moving anyone who has a weaker resistance to the illness into one of the guard's offices, and he wants me to protect them."

"So why are you packing my clothes, too?"

"Because you're coming with me.

I took a step forward and placed a hand on my hip. "Says who?"

Carl turned around and scowled. "I do."

I scowled back as I took yet another step forward. "When did you start making my decisions for me?" I demanded.

Carl sighed. "Look Sophia, we can talk about this later. We don't have time for this."

"Well, that's too bad, because we're going to talk about this now!" I shouted. "Because last time I checked, you were my boyfriend, not my father!"

"Look Sophia," he said, quickly losing his temper. "Just because you're mad I made this decision without you, doesn't mean it's not the right one."

"Fine," I hissed. I was silent for a few seconds more, before I said one of the cruelest things I ever could.

"Maybe you are my father."

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Ouch! That was harsh! Anyway, stay tuned.

Also, watch out for the Walking Dead Video Game fan fictions that I'll be publishing soon!


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